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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881090">Music in my Head</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeDefinitely404/pseuds/MaybeDefinitely404'>MaybeDefinitely404</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Music in My Head Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(he's not dead!), Abuse, Anxiety, Assumed death of a soulmate, Crappy foster system/group homes, Depression, Dissociation, Electrocution, Emetophobia, Food, General Sad Vibes, Hair-pulling, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor self-harm/blood, Nausea, Negative view of religion, Other, Panic Attacks, Past Neglect, Past eating disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Guilt, Seizures, Sneaking medication, Starvation, Unintentionally skipping meals, Vomiting, ambulance, antipsychotics/side effects, conversion therapy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:54:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeDefinitely404/pseuds/MaybeDefinitely404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman begins to hear his soulmate's music in his head, and he couldn't be less enamored if he tried. They communicate with songs, and soon enough, he can safely say he's in love... until one day the music just stops.</p><p>Virgil hasn't had the easiest life, and that's putting it lightly. The foster system isn't kind to him, and it only gets worse when his new foster family turns out to be homophobic. All he wants to do is 'talk' with his soulmate again.</p><p>Things have to get worse before they can get better, though.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders &amp; Logic | Logan Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Music in My Head Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Roman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heed my tags, my lovelies!! This is a rollercoaster of a ride!</p><p>(This began as a prompt for Soulmate September ((Day 16: When your soulmate listens to music, you hear it in your own head as well)) and warped into it's own universe.)</p><p>Note: the songs referenced in this fic are IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 and Love is Gone by SLANDER. Both of these songs make me cry and were the inspiration for this.</p><p>Word Count: 2.6k</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was at midnight on December 19th when Roman’s soulmark first appeared. He didn’t realize this until 1am.</p><p>Granted, he didn’t know it <em>was</em> his soulmark for the first hour.</p><p>At first, the almost imperceptible steady beat in his head just seemed like a song that had gotten stuck in there. He didn’t remember ever hearing the song, but it wasn’t unlikely that he’d heard the tune at the store or on the radio and it unconsciously ingrained itself into his memory. He was working on an assignment that was due in the morning, a script analysis for one of his Theatre courses, and had begun to bop his head along to the music when his roommate walked in, eyes bleary and arms laden with books.</p><p>“Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked through a yawn, dropping the books on his desk and flopping into the bottom bunk. </p><p>“I could ask you the same question, Pat,” Roman hummed, completing his conclusion paragraph with a dramatic flair of his hands. “Just finished my paper. Going now.”</p><p>“Lost track of time at the library,” Patton murmured in response, draping his arms over his eyes. </p><p>Closing his computer, Roman popped his back and climbed up the small ladder into the top bunk, using his cellphone as a flashlight. He assumed Patton was already fast asleep (the man could fall asleep at the drop of a hat) and tried to follow suit, only to sit up in annoyance after several minutes.</p><p>Whatever song was stuck in his head was keeping him up. </p><p>He remembered a tip he’d seen on the internet once, that said if you sing the last part of the song, it’s easier to get out of your head. Something about ‘your brain needing to complete it to be satisfied’ or whatever. As hard as he focused, though, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what song it was, much less the ending. </p><p>The more he concentrated on it, the louder it seemed to get, until it was no longer a hum of bass in the back of his skull, and he could make out the lyrics, the guitar solos, everything. He definitely hadn’t heard this song before. It wasn’t the kind you’d hear playing in public; it was loud, swears thrown in every chorus, just generally the kind of thing you’d hear in a Hot Topic but nowhere else. </p><p>And then it stopped.</p><p>For a split second he was pleased, thanking his brain for finally shutting off, and conceded to lie back down. He might be able to get six hours of sleep at this rate. Pretty good, for a college student. </p><p>Except as soon as he closed his eyes, another song started. It was another one he didn’t know, one he would have no way of knowing each word to. The realization hit him hard and his eyes shot open, nearly falling off the ladder in his haste to climb down.</p><p>“Roman? Everything okay?” Patton drawled, clearly having been woken up by Roman’s enthusiasm. </p><p>“My soulbond!”</p><p>“What?!” That got his attention and he jerked up, narrowly missing whacking his head on the top bunk.</p><p>“The music in my head all night, it’s my soulmate! It must be his birthday!”</p><p>He was pulling up music on his laptop before he’d even processed it, hands freezing over the keyboard as his brain grasped for something to play. What could he play that would properly introduce himself to his soulmate? A show tune? Something from the 80s? But his mind had gone completely blank, and he couldn’t think of a single one.</p><p>“What do I play, Pat?” He gasped, tapping the mousepad in time with the upbeat tempo in his head. </p><p>Patton was suddenly leaning over his shoulder, clacking a name into the search bar before pressing enter. Roman narrowed his eyes </p><p>“Why that one?”</p><p>Patton shrugged, “It’s kind of cheesy romantic, like you. And the first line is fitting.”</p><p>“A valid point,” Roman announced, closing his eyes to listen for a pause as the music switched. The second the song ended, he slammed the space bar, begging it to play before the next one started. </p><p>
  <em>How can you miss someone you’ve never met?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, I need you now but I don’t know you yet.</em>
</p><p>A little more depressing than he initially would have chosen, but he could see Patton’s point. The music on the other end had been paused and he smiled in accomplishment, knowing that he <em>must</em> have heard. He let the song play to the end of the first chorus before pausing it, waiting with his roommate with baited breath.</p><p>The silence was almost unbearably long, Patton watching him intently for some kind of indication that the music was back.</p><p>
  <em>Hello,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s me.</em>
</p><p>Adele’s soothing melody filled his mind and he absolutely wheezed with laughter. Patton grinned and let him explain through gasps for air, and he let out a giggle in response.</p><p>“Okay,” Roman snorted, “What next?”</p><p>Patton passed out probably an hour later after helping Roman pick out songs that would adequately encompass him as a person, but the theatre student didn’t sleep last night. Eventually him and his soulmate found a nice rhythm, each playing a song in turn. It didn’t take long for him to assume that his soulmate was emo (a fact that had him blushing furiously), simply due to the overwhelming amount of My Chemical Romance and Green Day played in his head, and he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was a theatre kid. The second song he played was from Heathers, afterall. </p><p>When his eyes finally started drooping too much to ignore, he knew he had to end this soon. The soulmate’s song ended and he quickly pulled up the first thing he’d thought of, a children’s lullaby, trying to indicate that he had to sleep.</p><p>There was quiet on the other end when the song ended, before the beginning trills of Baby Shark started playing and he groaned, quickly muffling the sound with his hand so as to not wake his roommate. He didn’t let it play past one verse, thank Olympus, and then his mind was quiet for the first time in many hours. It seemed like a mutual agreement that ‘now is sleep time’, and Roman went to sleep with a smile on his face.</p><p>Their new norm was quickly established in the following weeks. It became obvious almost right away that playing their music at the same time was cacophonous and only caused headaches, so they eventually settled on switching days. Every second morning, Roman would wake up to his alarm and quickly start his morning playlist, a set of rousing, uplifting, exciting songs to get his blood flowing for the day. It was his day to choose the music, so he’d set his walking playlist for class and his study one for the evenings, sometimes playing an adventure podcast or something to spice things up. The other days, he’d be woken by the soft notes of melancholy tunes, starting the day slowly. As the morning progressed, usually by the time he was eating breakfast, the tone would change to something a little more fast paced, as if his soulmate needed to warm up before getting to the main act. As much as the music wasn’t his style, he found himself keeping pace to the beat with his steps, bopping his head along to the melody, humming a harmony to the more commonly played ones. Just knowing that this was his soulmate made it better. </p><p>And then, one day… the music stopped. </p><p>He’d woken up around noon, not a big deal since he didn’t have classes until after lunch anyways, but he knew for a fact that his soulmate was always up by 10, latest. Whether the other had classes or a job that kept his schedule, he didn’t know. It was an oddity for sure that there was no alarm. </p><p>He put it off to the other probably having a sick day, or a free schedule, and he was sleeping in for once. The worry only started creeping in near the evening, when usually at this time, the music would start slowing down again as the sun set. There hadn’t been a peep all day, which was very unlike either of them. Even though the silence bothered him, he wouldn’t dare intrude on the other’s day, so he studied and ate dinner in silence, tapping his pencil against the table. Of course, he put it off to a one day fluke. </p><p>Except, two days after, when it should have been his soulmate’s turn again, there was no music. And the time after that. And the one after that. It was almost two weeks of radio silence on the other end before he called Patton through broken sobs, pleading for him to stop studying and come back to the dorm. Obviously, he made the ten minute walk in five. </p><p>And then Roman admitted the way his anxieties had been spiralling.</p><p>“What if- What if our soulbond broke? Did the universe realize we were a mistake? Or… or what if he died?! What if he’s hurt or dying or alone and I’m just-”</p><p>Patton shushed him gently, rubbing his back as Roman hiccuped into his shoulder. “When did this start?”</p><p>“Two- two weeks ago.”</p><p>“Then isn’t it possible that he just isn’t listening to music for a little while? Maybe he’s… somewhere without wifi. Or his phone broke.”</p><p>Even though he very much didn’t believe a word Patton was saying, he nodded along messily, clutching Patton’s shirt tighter. He eventually agreed to give him more time, hold on just a little longer, before completely giving up.</p><p>It took about a month before he did, and it didn’t get better from there. </p><p>Their consistency had been their norm for almost nine months, over summer break and now into the new school year, and now it was torn away without warning. Roman refused to listen to music on days that weren’t his, even though Patton tried to tell him it was okay, but he wouldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He mourned his soulmate the same way he would mourn a close friend’s death, for he truly believed he was gone for good. The person he’d barely gotten to understand, much less meet, and he was just… gone. He was going to live the rest of his life without a soulmate.</p><p>Most nights he just did the bare basics of the homework he had to do, without any of the old flair he’d put into all his work, and curled onto his bed to watch a show or, on his days, listen to music. His old playlists had shifted to the bottom of his rotation, now only bringing sadder memories that Patton had insisted he not indulge in at this point, so it was usually just automated lists he found. Nothing was special about them anymore. </p><p>Today was his day, an uneventful Saturday where the most exciting occurrence was Patton convincing him to come to the cafeteria and eat with other people. It had been tiring and only made him feel more alone, so his daily scheduled moping times had come up a little earlier. Patton had given him a hug and a gentle kiss on the head, telling him he had to go meet some people for a group project, and to call if he needed anything, before grabbing his bag and leaving. Roman didn’t miss the sad look tossed his way before the door shut.</p><p>Despite Patton’s advice, he was feeling particularly shitty today, and his fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own, pulled up one of his older playlists. One of the ones that was reminiscent of days when he actually had a soulmate. He clicked shuffle and tossed the phone onto the pillow next to his head, curling that much deeper into his blankets, as if he could somehow refill the void that had been cut out of him. </p><p>
  <em>How can you miss someone you’ve never met?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, I need you now but I don’t know you yet.</em>
</p><p>The first song he’d ever played had become a sort of inside joke between them. Despite the song’s sad melody and somber lyrics, it was a reminder of the first time they’d interacted; an awkward, laughter filled night. At least, it had been on Roman’s night, and he could only hope it had been the same on the other end. </p><p>He didn’t even realize he was crying until the pillow beneath him was tear stained and gross to lay on. Why had the universe chosen him as the target for its cruel irony? Not that he wished this on anyone else… but why couldn’t soulmates be foolproof? Why was there that margin for error, the always-there possibility that everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be ripped out of your hands just as soon as you think you have it? So close, but so far. At least before they’d connected, he’d lived in blissful hope and ignorance. </p><p>The song ended and he pressed pause lethargically, not able to find the emotional strength to listen to more. Maybe Patton had been right. A glance out the window showed that it was well past nightfall, the full moon gleaming into his window, and he decided to just sleep the emptiness away. It hadn’t worked so far, but maybe tonight was the night. He turned off his phone screen and plugged it in to charge, rolling away to face the wall, and waited for the soothing peace of sleep to take over him.</p><p>At first, he thought it was just a hallucination, wishful thinking. More than once in the three months since his soulmate disappeared, he’d thought he’d heard music, only for the feeling to disappear as soon as he focused on it. A soulbond only became louder when concentrated on, so he eventually realized he was doing it to himself subconsciously, his mind struggling to fill the emptiness that had once been filled by the other’s music. </p><p>When it disappeared, he figured it was music from someone else’s dorm filtering through the thin walls. But no, this was too clear, too distinct, too ingrained, to be coming from an external source.</p><p>He calmed his racing heart before he could jump to conclusions. <em>This music isn’t like what his used to be. It must be your brain, because he’s gone. He’s GONE, Roman.</em></p><p>Much as he tried to push it down, he couldn’t. It was becoming evident that no, something was happening, and it had to do with his soulmate. As he had done for the time he’d known (could it be considered ‘knowing’) the other, he concentrated on the lyrics, because those were the only feeble ways they’d interacted in those times. </p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t leave me,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I want you here with me, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know that your love is gone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t breathe,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m so weak, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know this isn’t easy,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t tell me that your love is gone,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That your love is gone.</em>
</p><p>Patton walked in after his group meeting to see Roman sobbing in his bed and, immediately assuming the worst, he jumped onto the bed and pulled him into his arms. Through gasps for breath, Roman was able to choke out that, “He’s back. He’s playing music. He’s back. He’s back.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Virgil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>((Day 21: Combine two soulmate prompts.))</p><p>Aka, what actually happened to Virgil?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word Count: 3.8k</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Unlike most kids in the foster system, Virgil didn’t know his birthday. He knew it was sometime in December, but that didn’t do much. Technically, birthdays weren’t really a huge thing anyways, not when the group home he rarely left was awfully underfunded, and a party came <em>second</em> to little things like working sinks and clothes without holes. Even still, all the other kids at least got a little cupcake and a half hearted birthday song on their <em>special day</em>, and his festivities were pushed onto Christmas. He didn’t <em>get</em> a weak excuse for a celebration, because the other kids ‘found it unfair’ that he got that <em>and</em> Christmas in the same month. To prevent an upheaval, the workers told him that he’d just have to be happy with what he got.</p><p>But it <em>wasn’t</em> fair, because some kids got Easter and a birthday, or Halloween and a birthday, or New Years and a birthday, and poor Virgil didn’t. The fact of the matter was, they plain didn’t like him. The other kids didn’t like that he got extra free time because of his anxiety, or was allowed to leave the table when they weren’t, and they especially didn’t like he was the youngest of the bunch. The youngest had the highest chance of getting adopted, it was just facts, so they had seemingly decided that if his stay here would be the shortest, it would be the most tortured. </p><p>It <em>wasn’t</em> the shortest stay, though. With his barrage of anxiety related issues and group-home-toughened demeanor, no foster home wanted to deal with him. He was snarky, ran away, regularly got in fights with the biological children of the parents, and was promptly labeled a problem child. Eventually, it was deemed easier for him to just stay in a group home until he outgrew the system, since he seemed set to escape every other place. Virgil tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did; it was <em>his fault</em>, after all. As he watched all his older tormentors grow out of a crooked system, he resigned himself to the same fate. After all, he was almost sixteen now, and he knew his chances were out. So he stayed stuck in his group home, lashing out at his caretakers and therapists, refusing to eat unless it was alone in his room (technically, three kids slept in there, but he so rarely left it, and they wanted to avoid him, it was unofficially deemed <em>his</em> room), and listening to music on his phone.</p><p>He’d been given the phone on his fifteenth birthday, a gift from one of his caretakers. It was the cheapest piece of crap he’d ever seen, glitched out every other minute and needed to be charged at least three times a day, but it was a phone nonetheless. Granted, he had no one to text. But he had access to a computer, a <em>totally one hundred percent legal</em> music downloading website, and a strong sense of determination, so he’d soon filled the phone’s entire measly storage with all the music he could cram on the thing. </p><p>That’s what he was doing on the night of December 18th, listening to his “Emo Playlist” on a pair of $4 Dollar Store earbuds, laying on his bed and finding shapes in his popcorn ceiling as the moon shone through the window. In the bunk beds across the room from him, his two other roommates were fast asleep, but he couldn’t follow suit. It was sadly normal for Virgil to have sleepless nights where no matter what, his anxious brain just wouldn’t shut off, and it just felt like one of those nights. His hands shook and his eyelids flinched every few seconds for no reason, so he turned the music just a little bit louder and tried to calm his breathing. </p><p>It was just past 1 am when his life changed forever. </p><p>He was on the fourth cycle of his playlist, eyes no more heavy than hours before and just as flinchy. It was just entering the “existential crisis” time of the night where he started questioning reality, and he was about to give in and start letting his mind drift to darker places, when a song distinctly <em>not his</em> began to play in the midst of a song switch.</p><p>
  <em>How can you miss someone you’ve never met?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, I need you now but I don’t know you yet.</em>
</p><p>He froze, eyes suddenly wide open, and yanked the earbuds out of his ears. The song continued; not in his headphones, but<em> in his head</em>. It didn’t take an idiot to realize that it was his soulmate, responding, and as an afterthought, Virgil suddenly identified that today was probably his birthday. Both amazing revelations, but one was slightly more time sensitive. </p><p>Desperately scrolling through his playlists as the song stopped after the chorus, he tried to find a song that would be an adequate introduction to this new person. When his eyes landed on a song from his Adele phase (he didn’t talk about that time) that he hadn’t had the energy to delete yet, he simultaneously groaned and grinned. Subtly meme-y, heartfelt like the song his soulmate had played, a decent greeting. He tapped play. </p><p>
  <em>Hello,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s me.</em>
</p><p>He hoped his soulmate had the same sense of humor of him and had actually given a laugh, since he was trying to stifle laughter behind his sleeve to avoid waking the sleeping kids. He paused after the first verse, since he didn’t really want to remember that phase of his life more than he had to, and waited for the other to play the next song. Hopefully they could work out some sort of rhythm, play songs back and forth. He for <em>sure</em> wouldn’t be able to sleep now.</p><p>(The next song his soulmate played was an almost atrocious obviously-musical-theatre song that almost made Virgil hit his head against the wall, so he retaliated with a favorite of his, the most ear assaulting screamo he could find on his playlist.)</p><p>The clock had just passed four in the morning when there was a small pause in the routine, before his soulmate played a children’s lullaby. It definitely wasn’t something you’d listen to in everyday life, so Virgil could only assume it was the other’s way of indicating that they had to sleep. <em>As if I’m going to let you go that easily,</em> Virgil smirked, opening YouTube and begging that the video he’d chosen would play without an ad.</p><p>It did, filling his crackling, cheap earbuds with the opening chorus of Baby Shark. <em>Fight fire with fire</em>, he decided, chuckling to himself as he turned off the song just before the ‘mommy shark’ verse. Silence filled his head and he mentally wished the other a good night, turning onto his stomach and screaming into his pillow, grinning madly. </p><p>Eight months later, their new way of life was deeply imbedded into him; getting woken up at asscrack o’clock in the morning by a worker who wanted to be there as much as he did, and either playing his morning playlist to get himself slightly more ready to face another monotonous day or waiting in silence until his soulmate woke up and played their own music. He’d begrudgingly started to even enjoy the showtunes. Everyone around the home had noticed his gradual shift in attitude, and he couldn’t help the natural smiles that pulled at his cheeks when a new song played out of nowhere. It got to the point where his therapist noticed his lifted mood, and the other kids stopped avoiding him and, unknown to Virgil, his social workers decided that he was ready to try another foster home. </p><p>That’s why, eight months later, there was a knock on his bedroom door and his main worker poked in her head, asking him to come downstairs. He’d been playing music for his soulmate, so he silently apologized and joined her at the dining room table, giving her a half hearted smile. </p><p>“Virgil, we’ve found a new home for you. A foster home that specializes in… harder to place cases. They’ve opened their doors to you, and we’re hoping to get you into a trial period there within the next week.”</p><p>At first, Virgil vehemently refused. No. He didn’t want to go back to foster homes, not after… everything he went to in the first few. The ones that hurt him, the ones that were more densely crowded than group homes, the ones that turned him into the angry shell he was before he had met a sign of a possibly happy future. He didn’t want to lose the progress he’d made. </p><p>But Bev looked so hopeful, so pleadingly at him, that he gave in after three days of denying. He said goodbye to the kids he’d unfortunately grown attached to, threw his few belongings into a black garbage bag, and got into his worker’s car for the first time in years. Just rebuckling that seatbelt caused a shudder to run up his spine. </p><p>——1 month later——</p><p>“Virgil, what are you doing? Do you have earbuds in? We’ve made it abundantly clear that you are not to have technology at the table.”</p><p>Virgil fought every urge in his body to roll his eyes, flicking his hair behind his ears to show they were empty. It had gotten long and shaggy, just reaching his jaw in the back. “No earbuds. My soulmate’s listening to music, and it’s catchy.” Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t been caught bopping along to silence before by the stiflers. </p><p>They were nice enough, a woman and a man and their two biological children, but they were too religious for Virgil’s liking. He’d never had qualms with religion before, but he had grown tired of spending Saturdays and Sundays (his only days off from their homeschool regime) in a church, surrounded by older people singing repetitive songs and being yelled at by a guy on the pulpit. Faking being sick only worked so many times before they refused to listen to his excuses. They also insisted he go to a specialized youth group on Tuesdays, but that was easy enough to escape. He just waved by and booked it to the closest 7/11 when they left, making sure he was back at the church by the time it was over and made up some bullshit about the gathering. Jameson, the attendant at the gas station, was becoming the closest friend he’d ever had. </p><p>“Your soulmate?” One of the children asked around a bite of toast, spitting a decent amount onto Virgil’s sleeve. </p><p>“Like daddy and I, Mariam.” The woman explained briefly, not bothering to chastise her about speaking with her mouth full. </p><p>“Yeah.” Unlike most of the kids at his old group home, he wasn’t warming up to theirs. They were too spoiled, too bratty. One had even bit him in his first week here and he was still bitter about it. </p><p>“When did you connect with yours, Virgil?” The question wasn’t asked kindly, more for the sake of being polite, and he assumed if he didn’t answer in an equally polite tone, they’d probably make him paint a fence or something. </p><p>He knew they cared about his bond about as much as he did about <em>theirs</em>. Which was approximately none. The mom took her children’s empty plates and placed them in the sink, Virgil quickly following suit. No use losing more computer time because he didn’t clean his plate.  </p><p>“Last December. I didn’t even know it was my birthday, and they started playing music out of nowhere. It was pretty cool.” He finished rinsing off his plate and was confused at the sudden stillness in the room.</p><p>“‘They’?” The mom asked, giving her husband what she must have believed to be a subtle glance.</p><p>“Uhm… yeah?” Virgil said slowly, “I’m bisexual. So I’m not sure if my partner’s a guy or a girl or… something in between. So… they?” </p><p>He stared with rising anxiety as the two parents had a silent interaction over the kitchen island, before the dad stood up. “Kids, plates in the sink and then go get ready for church. Virgil, you too.”</p><p>There was minimal whining as the younger ones did as they were asked, racing each other up the stairs. Virgil followed, slower, listening to hushed beginnings of a conversation, unable to fight the feeling that he’d just royally fucked up. </p><p>————————</p><p>“Virgil, may we speak with you for a moment?”</p><p>He froze, slowly turning from where he’d been half way up the stairs. They’d just wrapped up lessons for the day (Virgil never thought he’d miss an actual school building before, but alas) and the kids had been excused, leaving just him and the parents behind. It had been almost a week since the incident, and a part of him had been hoping they’d just drop it. There wasn’t much they could do, anyways; if their religion conflicted so badly with his sexuality, the worst they would do is send him back to the home anyways. In all honesty, he kind of hoped they would. He was sick of being here, and it was better for his record if he didn’t run. </p><p>Not that it mattered much anymore. He was almost aged out of the system anyways. </p><p>He took a cautious seat back at the dining room table, which they had just cleared from classes. The mom sat back in her chair, eyeing him carefully, as the dad began to speak.</p><p>“We spoke with our pastor the other day, and we think it would be best if we put you in therapy.”</p><p>“I don’t…” He’d stopped regular therapy at the group home almost a month before coming here, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d need to go back. He definitely wasn’t happy here, but he didn’t figure a grumpy mood was enough to warrant counseling. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“After… what you told us? About your… urges-”</p><p>“Urges.” He couldn’t help his own disgusted tone. <em>Of course</em> they were homophobic.</p><p>“Yes. Our pastor suggested we try conversion therapy.”</p><p>Virgil scoffed, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart started pounding, “Right. As if you could <em>ever</em> get my social workers to approve that. Ward of the state, remember?” He tapped his chest a couple times.</p><p>“Fortunately, we already talked to your social worker, Virgil. We had it approved just this morning.” The man finally stopped, as if waiting for a response.</p><p>Virgil’s eyes grew wide as he looked frantically between the two of them, the woman quickly avoiding eye contact. <em>That</em> wasn’t normal. </p><p>“There’s no way in hell that you-”</p><p>“Profanity, Virgil!” The man barked and Virgil shrank back in his chair, impulsively ducking to avoid a fist that didn’t come. They hadn’t hit him so far, but old habits die hard. “We’ve already signed you up. Your first session is tomorrow. First thing’s first-” He stood up, reaching a hand out to a still-shaking Virgil, “Hand over your phone.”</p><p>————————-</p><p>His hair was short now. Shorter than he could ever remember it being. He missed his bangs, he missed the tiny boosts of confidence it gave him when the rest of his appearance disgusted him. Now there was nothing for his hands to run through. There was no style to it, just an electric razor in the hands of his silent foster mother. He should have fought it, he really should have, but he was shaking far too much to try to move.</p><p>He didn’t like hands so near his throat. </p><p>————————</p><p>Surely, his social worker didn’t approve of this. The only explanation Virgil could possibly rationalize was they’d lied about the purpose of the therapy, or the method, or something. But any type of change in a foster kid’s life had to go through about a million different levels to get approved, so how the hell were they getting away with this?</p><p>It wasn’t <em>too</em> bad. A lot of it was using religious guilt, something Virgil did not have much of, saying he was immoral and inhumane. The rest of it was just his new therapist trying to dig into his supposed ‘trauma’ that made him ‘this way’, as if there was something that caused it. They talked a lot about his old foster homes, and his therapist seemed positive something there had to be the root to everything. It made his blood boil.</p><p>It didn’t help that they still hadn’t given his phone back, and they confined him to his room when he wasn’t doing school work at the kitchen table. He could hear the way his soulmate was losing morale, the longer he didn’t respond. The songs were darker, and were few and far between. They still refused to play songs on what he’d called ‘his days’.</p><p>——————–</p><p>His ‘therapy’ had ended hours ago, and yet he couldn’t stop twitching. Every time he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, it was like the electrodes were attached to him again. The images they’d shown him flashed before his eyes, of men kissing, holding hands, and were quickly followed by the sharp sting of electric shocks. He couldn’t close his eyes without flinching violently, no music to calm his nerves.</p><p>Virgil didn’t sleep that night.</p><p>———————-</p><p>He held to the music like an anchor, soaking in every rare song his soulmate played like a sponge. It was his only relief from the hunger pangs in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t been allowed to eat at all in the day leading up to another therapy session. Apparently they wanted to put him on some kind of medication, try to increase the intensity of his sessions. It was getting to the point where Virgil was tempted to pretend it was working just to make them stop. </p><p>He missed his soulmate. </p><p>———————-</p><p>No. He’d said no to the drugs. They wanted to put him on anti-psychotics, claiming he was severely mentally ill, and he’d downright refused. There was no way in hell he was going on anti-psychotics. Finally, after days of their demanding being met with stubbornness, they’d given in. </p><p>That had been a month ago. Maybe. Time had gotten kind of funny, like in that limbo between Christmas and New Years, or in the depths of summer break. It had been a while, for sure. They still fed him so rarely a growling stomach was more common than a full one, claiming it was part of his new therapy. He couldn’t help wonder why he was gaining weight, though. He’d been underweight for a majority of his life, thanks to a constantly overworking metabolism and genetics, along with the nasty food they served at group homes that he gladly avoided, but he was starting to fill out slightly. His ribs were barely showing. </p><p>That <em>would</em> be a symptom of being on antipsychotics, he knew from previous research. But he wasn’t <em>on them</em>, so why…?</p><p>He took another sip of his apple juice his foster mom had brought him, trying to focus on his homework. Had apple juice always tasted that bitter?</p><p>———————–</p><p>They’d gone too far this time, Virgil knew that much. Curse his stubbornness, his inability to just lie and go along with it. He could have just claimed the conversion therapy was working, ‘oh golly, I’m healed!’, and go on with his life, finally talk to his <em>fucking social worker,</em> but no. He wasn’t capable of that. </p><p>They’d shown him more pictures, shocking him more frequently, refusing to stop the session even as tears streamed down his face. <em>It just hurt so bad.</em> Then he remembered a shout (maybe his own?), blinding pain, and the next thing he knew, he was in his foster dad’s car. He said he’d had a seizure, but he was okay now, so they were heading home. A cup of water was forced down his throat and he was laid down in bed, commanded to rest. He was <em>so</em> confused, but also <em>so</em> tired, so he let his eyes drift shut. </p><p>Just before he lost consciousness for the second time that day, he heard a soft melody drift through his mind as his soulmate played another song. It had been so long since the last time he’d heard them play music… despite his exhaustion, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. </p><p>——————–</p><p>The days had been a bit of a blur since his seizure. It was probably because his brain had done the human equivalent to ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again?’, but even that was hazy in his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep, to rest, to not have to do the school work that they were still shoving down his throat. From where he was laying motionless in his bed, he watched the slowly setting sun dip below the horizon. </p><p>There was a knock at the door downstairs. Virgil flinched from the noise, triggering a series of twitches down his spine and into his limbs. People were talking downstairs. He could distinctly hear the voice of his foster parents, but the others were unfamiliar. They were getting louder, near shouting, and there were pounding footsteps echoing up the stairs and down his hallway. </p><p>He couldn’t even find the energy to be scared as his door was thrown open and a man’s voice shouted, “He’s in here!”. A flurry of people stormed into the room, the ones in the lead dressed in blue. </p><p>Clambering, people shifting to make space, a woman holding his hand. She was asking him questions as they loaded him into a stretcher and he tried his best to answer, but he was just <em>so tired</em>. His name was said multiple times, as well as the names of his foster parents, but it was hazy, so hazy… </p><p>“We were just trying to help, I didn’t want this to happen, I don’t-”</p><p>“Quiet, woman!”</p><p>She raised her voice but it was growing farther away. Virgil realized with a start that he was looking at the sky, bumping along on the gravel path, the bright lights of an ambulance flashing across his vision. </p><p>The husband shouted again, trying to silence his wife. That was the last thing Virgil heard as the doors slammed shut, and he finally allowed his eyes to close. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Janus and Logan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>((Day 19: Everyone is born with a compass on their wrist, the needle of the compass points towards your soulmate)) </p><p>Possible triggers in this chapter. Please check the tags if you haven't.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word Count: 5k</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He barely remembered the hospital. It was all just a blur of doctors and police officers and more sleep than he’d gotten in weeks. After the first night of twitching in the dark confines of his hospital room and waking up screaming from nightmares the few brief seconds his consciousness faded, he was given sleeping pills, and the rest of the visit was quickly forgotten. The clearest part of the two week stay was near the end, when he was deemed physically well enough to give a statement to his social worker and a policeman, describing his ‘therapy’ and his life at the foster home, which quickly dissolved into a panic attack. They had enough though, and he was left with a sick satisfaction that they weren’t getting away with what they’d done to him. </p><p>They’d lied to him. They had told him the system agreed with what they were doing, allowing it, <em>condoning </em>it. At first, he’d refused to believe them, because that made no sense. But they took his only form of contact, didn’t allow him to leave the house except for therapy, and his eventual addition of medication far too strong for him made him paranoid. Maybe he didn’t believe them as much as he was just trying to survive. He still didn’t know how they’d managed to keep up the charade when they were being checked on bi-weekly; he hadn’t even known when said visits were happening. </p><p>“They’ll be spending some time in prison for child abuse. Not nearly enough, but still,” A social worker said quietly as he drove him back to his old group home. Virgil stared numbly out the window. “The kids were taken from them for the time being. They were deemed unfit parents. Foster care until they can find either some relatives or the parents are allowed them back.”</p><p>He didn’t react, although his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The parents hadn’t been great, but the kids had been happy enough. And now they were forced into a shoddy system… because of him. Virgil blinked rapidly to stop the tears that threatened to flow.</p><p>“You alright, Virge?” </p><p>He finally turned from the blurry mass of green trees out the car window, turning blankly to the man driving. The worker glanced from the road to meet his eyes, sighing. </p><p>No, he wasn’t alright. But he’d never say otherwise. Volunteering information about himself was how he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He wasn’t about to do it again. </p><p>———-</p><p>That had been almost a month ago, and he was still to break out of his selective mutism. It wasn’t as if he was choosing not to speak; it wasn’t stubbornness. He felt as if his brain and his mouth were disconnected, like his thoughts were less coherent and more just abstract emotion, and he couldn’t turn them into words. Any question that couldn’t be answered by a simple nod or head shake was met with a blank stare, a far off gaze, that was unnerving to anyone. They’d tried to put him back into therapy, but the moment it was mentioned, Virgil spiralled into the worst panic attack he could ever remember having. </p><p>He’d gotten his old room back, with two new kids as his roommates. He quickly built up the same reputation as before: this room is mine unless you’re sleeping. No kid wanted to be near him when he was awake, staring at nothing, his only movements being his occasional blinking. Frankly, the younger ones were scared of him. </p><p>And he didn’t care. </p><p>Some days he fell so deep into dissociating that he didn’t even react when he was called for dinner. The world around him dissolved, blurry and unfocused and just quiet, retreating into his own mind where he could breathe. Reality was too much. It was just… too much. One of his doctors had said it might be a side effect as they eased him off his criminally high dose of antipsychotics they’d hidden in his drinks, but that was an afterthought. He was warm, he was full (when he was aware enough to eat), and so he faded into his head. He’d cope with his trauma another day. </p><p>“You haven’t eaten all day, honey,” A soft voice said and he blinked, looking up from his bed sheets at the worker. She was one of his favorites; gentle, quiet, respecting his boundaries. In her hands was a plate with dinner on it.</p><p>He gave an almost imperceptible nod, barely more than a single bob, and she sat across from him on the bed, placing the plate in front of him. With heavy hands, he lifted a cold green bean to his mouth. It was gross, but the plate was empty in minutes. Apparently it <em>had</em> been a whole day. </p><p>“Virgil, I want to talk to you,” She said. Now full, his brain would let him stay present for a little while until dissociation took over again. He pushed himself back against the wall and brought his knees to his chest, watching her movements. </p><p>“It’s not anything bad, I promise. I’ve been talking with some other workers, some connections I have across the state.”</p><p>He didn’t like where this was going. </p><p>“One of them suggested a couple that’s fostered for over a decade. They have a fantastic record, so I got into contact with them-”</p><p>“No.” The first thing he’d said in weeks, his voice scratchy from disuse. For once, the mess in his brain came together to form the single word, an immediate rejection. He pushed himself farther away from her, shaking his head violently. “No, no, <em>no</em>.”</p><p>“Virgil, <em>breathe</em>,” She reached out a hand and Virgil flinched so hard his head hit the wall. The hand retreated. “You don’t have to go with them if you’re uncomfortable, hun. Please just trust me, though, they’d never do anything that <em>they</em> did.”</p><p>He glared at her, trying to read her expression in the dark room. Silence stretched between them as Virgil’s thoughts drifted back to their state of quietude, leaving him unable to form words, beginning to drift away from reality. His eyelids flickered as focusing became harder, his mind’s eye suddenly alight with the blinding white lights of the therapy room. </p><p>“Will you meet them at least, Virgil? Just for a few minutes? And if you still say no after, I’ll never bring them up again.”</p><p>He found himself nodding without properly meaning it. He just wanted her to leave… he just wanted to be alone. So he could drift away, without having to fear anyone hurting him anymore. </p><p>She left, taking the empty plate with her. </p><p>———-</p><p>Just because he knew today he was meeting his potential (<em>not gonna happen</em>) foster parents, it didn’t mean he was allowed to be present for the rest of the day. His favorite worker had come back again, motivating him to get ready and dressed, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to find the energy to even just put on a sweater, much less get himself completely ready. </p><p>Looking in the mirror hurt. His hair was starting to grow back, just barely long enough to run his fingers through, never mind getting anywhere long enough to cover his eyes like it used to. The bags under his eyes were darker than he could remember them ever being and his hands shook as he brushed his teeth. Biting down on the bristles, he grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror, feeling a slight tinge of relief when he was no longer forced to look at himself. The social worker watched from the doorway, silently. </p><p>He was tempted to go to sleep when he was done, completely exhausted from the little bit of work. But she brought him breakfast and his stomach growled in agreement, so he ate enough of the oatmeal to satiate his hunger, and not a bite more. A nervous nausea was already swirling in his gut and he didn’t need to add to it.</p><p>“Would you like to be left alone?” She asked, taking the empty bowl. </p><p>Virgil nodded, already feeling the heaviness and emptiness that came with dissociation starting to creep through his limbs.</p><p>“I’ll come let you know when they’re here, okay?” He had no recollection of her leaving the room, but the next time he drifted back to the present, she was gone. </p><p>He took a nap around noon, too tired and overwhelmed to stay awake for any longer. Plus, with new rushes of anxiety flooding his system every couple seconds, he was ready to not be conscious for a hot minute. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay, he’d struggle through an awkward meeting where the foster parents would eventually give up on him and leave, and he could spend his remaining year and a month in the system. Hopefully in that year he could figure enough out to survive when he was alone. </p><p>A joyous child screeching downstairs woke him up three hours later, jerking him awake with a pounding heart. </p><p>It wasn’t an hour later when there was a soft knock at his door and he threw himself into the corner, pulling his blanket up to his chest. <em>No, no, no, he wasn’t ready- </em>The door opened painfully slowly, spilling the light from the hallway into his pitch black room. </p><p>“Virgil? I’m here with one of the foster parents, can I come in?”</p><p>She poked her head into the room and squinted to meet his eyes in the darkness, eventually finding his hunched form on his bed. Wordlessly, she opened the door all the way and walked up to him, flicking on the bedside lamp. A pleasantly soft light filled the room, illuminating the man standing at the door. Virgil began to shake. </p><p>He wasn’t overly tall, probably just a head or so taller than Virgil, dressed in a plain yellow button up and black jeans. At first, he didn’t seem too intimidating, but neither had the other family at first glance. When he walked into the room, just so he was less of a silhouette, Virgil eyes were drawn to the large burn scar covering the left side of his face, just a shade darker than the right, but the skin mottled and textured. </p><p>“Virgil, this is Janus Oakmen. His husband was unable to join him today, but-”</p><p>Husband? Virgil’s breath hitched. <em><b>His</b> husband, his husband, he’s gay, gay gay gay-</em> His anxiety skyrocketed, and he couldn’t help the electric-like impulses that ran up his spine and out his fingers. He clenched his fist to hide the remaining twitches. </p><p>She seemed to stumble over her words, trying to hide her shock. To her luck, the man interrupted, smiling softly down at Virgil.</p><p>“I’d like to speak to Virgil alone, if he’s alright with that.”</p><p>“I’ll be waiting just outside the door,” She said hurriedly, rushing out and closing the door behind her. And they were alone.</p><p>Janus looked at him for barely a second before taking a seat on the bottom bunk on the other side of the small room, folding his hands on his lap.</p><p>“Technically, I asked if <em>you</em> were okay with it, but…” He gestured weakly to the door. “Oh, well. I was told you don’t talk, Virgil.”</p><p>He stared in response, wrapping his fists up in the blanket. The man gave a breathy chuckle, but there was no animosity behind it.</p><p>“That’s okay. Just wanted to double check. Is it okay with you if <em>I</em> just talk, then?”</p><p>No adult had ever asked Virgil for permission for <em>anything</em> twice in under a minute. His social workers kind of just did what they had to, and he’d never been in a home where that kind of thing was the norm. It was more ‘the kids ask for everything, and the parents get what they want, no questions asked’. Needless to say, he was taken aback. </p><p>He nodded weakly, realizing the man was waiting for a response. </p><p>“Fabulous. Ignoring all the boring details you wouldn’t care about, my name is Janus. Like, from mythology, not a PTA mom. I’m thirty-five, and my husband Logan and I have been fostering since we were twenty-two, so we know what we’re doing. We love it.”</p><p>Virgil slowly let his legs unfurl, stretching them out in front of him under the blanket.</p><p>“We actually weren’t intending to foster this year, since Logan is looking for a new job. His current one <em>just</em> made it necessary for him to travel more than he would like to, so we wanted to press pause until he was happy at a new one. And then we got a call from good ole Bev out there.” He waved at the door again, cracking a smile. “She told us a little bit of your story, and Logan and I instantly said yes. If you’ll have us, that is.”</p><p>The vague idea of “<em>why?</em>” crossed Virgil’s mind, and it must have translated to his face, because Janus continued. </p><p>“When I was fifteen, I came out to my parents as gay. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but they weren’t such big fans, and they put me in conversion therapy.”</p><p>His heart stopped. Another round of shocks through his arms. </p><p>“We can talk about that more another day, if you want. I know that’s a tough topic for you. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Because it <em>doesn’t</em> work,” He shrugged, an annoyed tone finding its way into his words, “I understand what you’re going through, to an extent. If anyone can help you, it’s us. I’ve been there. And I promise, we’re fiercely protective. We’d never let anything bad happen to you.”</p><p>He stopped, leaning forward on his hands. Virgil realized he probably couldn’t see him that well except for his outline, due to him being pressed into the darkest corner of the room. Despite every cell in his body screaming that it was a trick, he scooted forward into the light of the lamp, still shaking. </p><p>“There you are. Hello, Virgil.”</p><p>Virgil raised a trembling hand in a half hearted greeting. </p><p>“I know this is a big, terrifying thing to ask of you. And I’ll understand if you say no. But if you feel safe, we’d love to have you for however long you’re comfortable with. Would you like to think it over?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded immediately. It wasn’t the hard ‘no’ he had expected himself to feel, and that was more unsettling than it should have been. </p><p>“Okay. You do that. Take however long you need,” Janus said as he stood up, straightening his shirt, “It’s been great to meet you, Virgil.”</p><p>And he was gone. The social worker came back a short while later, but Virgil was completely gone by the time she did. He didn’t respond to her dinner calls, didn’t eat when the meal was placed in front of him, safely retreated into the silent part of his mind where he was safe from panic attacks and hard choices.</p><p>— </p><p>He said yes. Of course he did. He was far too intrigued by the man he’d met to refuse. He was scared shitless, that was a given; the first week after meeting Janus, he’d refused to leave his bed, refused to eat or shower or leave his huddle against the wall until the caretaker was basically pleading with him. Even then, it was a struggle to not throw up from sheer terror. </p><p>But his social worker must have seen the way he was giving in, yearning for a grasp of hope in equal parts as his fear, because she set about to convince him. Promised more thorough checks once a week, daily phone calls to keep in touch, and an immediate pick up the moment he was unsure. Bit by bit his resolve was broken, until he finally agreed to give it a try, rushing from her presence moments later to hurl his dinner into the toilet. Hopefully his nerves would relax over time. </p><p>The day came when he was to leave the group home, and he spent none of it in the present. He was so dissociated, so deeply embedded within his own mind, that he wasn’t even able to pack his belongings. His social worker was kind enough to do it for him (though the task itself took less than half an hour- he didn’t own that much) and he didn’t even notice she was in the room, talking, until his black garbage bag was placed on the bed in front of him. </p><p>“ -unresponsive like this all day. We’re not sure what to do.”</p><p>“No doubt a response to his overwhelming fear of being placed in a new home after the disaster of his previous one. May I speak to him alone?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Want me to leave too, Lo?”</p><p>“No, Janus, you can stay. It may be nice to have your expertise in the subject lest it become pertinent.”</p><p>There was some shuffling at the very corners of his consciousness, the light from the hallways lighting up the divots of his rumpled clothing bag, and one of the people were gone. His bedside lamp was flicked on.</p><p>“Thank you, Janus.” </p><p>A weight on the bed was the first thing to really snap Virgil back to the presence, for the first time noticing the two men before him. The one standing, he recognized as Janus. The other sitting in front of him, though, he didn’t know. Virgil blinked rapidly, slowly pushing himself further back into his bed frame, despite how it dug into his shoulders. </p><p>“Hello, Virgil. My name is Logan. I take it you’ve met my husband?”</p><p>Janus shot him a soft smirk, copying Virgil’s little wave from when they’d first interracted. He barely restrained a rush of twitches, playing it off as a shuffle to rearrange his blanket. </p><p>“Do you think you could move forward just enough to place your feet on the ground? You don’t have to stand, just to begin the process of grounding?”</p><p>Virgil didn’t trust this guy for anything. He didn’t know his intentions, knew nothing about him, and his repressed mental state wasn’t making his cognitive reasoning any better. If Logan could help him ground, maybe it would be easier to figure out if they were trustworthy. Odd, that for this to work, he had to trust them enough to ground around them.</p><p>He scooted forward, letting his feet flutter off the bed and rest on the floor.</p><p>“Well done, Virgil. Press them to the floor firmly. Janus, do you have- ah, wonderful.”</p><p>Virgil looked up, nearly throwing himself back as Janus reached out a hand to him. There was something clutched in his fingers, but all the youngest could suddenly think was <em>electrode electrode it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt you don’t let it touch you don’tletittouchyou DON’T!</em></p><p>“It’s just gum, Virge, it’s okay.”</p><p>Oh. His hand paused as he reached out for the offering, a new thought coming to mind. Should he trust food from strangers? What if they’d drugged it, like his old foster home? He bit his lip, slowly retreating back into himself. </p><p>The man seemed to see his hesitation, popping the piece into his mouth and offering one right from the package.</p><p>“I didn’t mess with it, I swear.” </p><p>He took the gum, recoiling at the harsh taste almost instantly.</p><p>“Yeah, it doesn’t taste great. But I chewed like a pack of this a day when dissociation was a bitch. Snaps you back to the present like-”</p><p>“Language, Janus.”</p><p>“I’m sure he’s heard worse.”</p><p>“That doesn’t mean we should encourage it.”</p><p>Virgil couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t seen just casual bickering in a long time.</p><p>“We brought one more bribe-”</p><p>“It is not a <em>bribe</em>-”</p><p>He outright snorted at Logan’s aghast tone, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Janus looked utterly pleased with himself, slowly handing over a bundle he’d had wrapped under his arm. </p><p>“Again, to help with grounding. And it’s a bit of a drive to our place, so maybe you can get some sleep in the car.”</p><p>It was a deep purple blanket, almost impossibly soft to the touch. Virgil couldn’t help run his fingers over the plush material, fighting the urge to just smash his face into it. Keeping an eye on the two, Virgil unfolded it and wrapped it tightly around himself, settling to just let his cheek rub against where it was draped over his shoulder.</p><p>It took another twenty minutes for him to feel able to walk without stumbling, but if he left the group home in a fuzzy blanket and starting to feel safer than he had in months, that was his to admit. And he wouldn’t… not yet.</p><p>———–</p><p>Virgil stared down at the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand, re-reading his shitty handwriting for the millionth time. He knew it was proper grammar, and nothing was spelled wrong, and it was clear and concise, but a part of him was still nervous about the idea of giving it to Janus. He was still hesitant to speak, and his new foster family was more than accommodating, giving him a small white board to write on, and even teaching him the most basic sign language for simple questions (courtesy of Logan). One day, he hoped he’d get his confidence back enough to speak, but right now, he felt no rush. </p><p>Being surrounded with these new people, even for the three short weeks he’d been there, had already been enough to minimize his dissociating spells. Logan didn’t have to leave for another work trip for another week, and Janus worked from home anyways, so he was getting way more love and affection than he was ever used to. He hadn’t quite given in to Janus’ offered hugs, or any casual touch at all really, but he was getting used to one of the two just sitting with him for hours, covering him with weighted and fuzzy blankets, and gently distracting him with puzzles or that god-awful gum or just repeating where he was, and that he was safe. Was this what being loved was <em>supposed</em> to feel like?</p><p>So he trudged down the steps, hearing the shower running as he walked past the master bedroom, and slowly approached Janus at the dining room table. The man turned to greet him, giving him that soft smirk.</p><p>“Morning, kid. Happy birthday.”</p><p>Virgil smiled shyly, remembering the sign for <em>thank you</em> after a moment, and dropped the note onto the table next to Janus’ mug. He took a seat across from him, hiding his shaking hands in his lap, and watched with bated breath as he took the slip of paper and read it.</p><p>“‘How long did it take you to feel okay with Logan after CT?’ As in, feel okay dating a man?”</p><p>Virgil nodded and then, just for practice, signed <em>yes</em>. </p><p>“The short answer? Probably two years, and I was still hesitant going into the relationship. It took us a longer time to get to the comfort level we’re at now. You need to go at <em>your</em> pace, Virgil. You shouldn’t force anything.” </p><p>And then, as he tended to do when no one was there to fill the silence, he began to rant. This was also something Virgil was surprised he had come to enjoy, pulling up his feet so he could sit cross legged on the chair and setting his chin overtop his folded arms on the table. </p><p>“I think it’s ridiculous that our basic human rights are still up for debate,” Janus sighed, taking a long sip of his tea, “Soulmarks are more than enough proof that we have no control over who we love- not that we should <em>need</em> that kind of proof to be validated. But people are afraid of what they don’t know, so they portray us as monsters who need to be fixed.” He’d begun rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist and Virgil’s eyes tracked the movement, noticing for the first time the small compass that was just a couple shades darker than the man’s skin. It almost blended in, and he probably never would have noticed it, if the small needle in the center weren’t slowly rotating towards the stairs. </p><p>Logan entered the dining room from that direction, greeting his husband with a small kiss on the head and his foster child with a relaxed smile. He must have noticed Virgil’s occasional glance at the other’s wrist, wordlessly flipping over his own arm. His matching compass was pulling towards Janus’, an ever present symbol that they were meant to be together. Then, he patted his husband’s shoulder, going to get the coffee his husband always made for him. </p><p>“You’re not broken, Virgil,” Janus murmured. Virgil’s head shot up, surprised at his bluntness, “You’re not. And if anyone tells you differently, they’ll have to deal with me,” He said firmly as he took a long sip.</p><p>“No <em>threatening</em>, Janus!”</p><p>Virgil snorted into his fist, grinning as Janus winked at him and said, “Sorry, Logan,” into his mug.</p><p>“Incorrigible.” Logan sighed as he exited the kitchen with his coffee, dropping into the seat between the two. “And happy birthday, Virgil. Would you like to choose what we have for breakfast, or would you like us to decide?”</p><p>That was something they’d learned about him quickly; he had awful choice paralysis. Choosing between two choices was already anxiety inducing, but a variety of things, like having to narrow it down to one food item? Lethal. Virgil quickly pointed to Logan, who chuckled. </p><p>“French toast, then?”</p><p>Virgil nodded.</p><p>“I’ll get started on that in a moment. Janus, do you have his gift?”</p><p>“It’s in the living room, let me go get it.”</p><p>And that got his heart racing. ‘Gifts’ weren’t good things. They were leverage, blackmail, with a promise of a ‘returned favor’ in the near future. Virgil didn’t like things held against him like that. What if they gave him a present, and then demanded he pay them back for it the moment things weren’t peachy? Who was he kidding, he was in the honeymoon phase of this new foster family. It would take a month, like it did with the others, and then they’d find something about him that they hated and they’d force him to change it and he wouldn’t be able to refuse because they gave him food and shelter and above all, a gift on his birthday, and he would owe them a debt and he was stuck and-</p><p>“Virgil? What are five orange things you can see?”</p><p>His head popped up- when had he grabbed his hair like that?- and he noticed how heavily he was breathing. His foster parents were looking at him in concern, not pity, but legitimate concern for his well being (wack), Janus holding his hands behind his back. It was Logan that had spoken.</p><p>“Five orange things you can see, Virgil. You can just point.”</p><p><em>Don’t disappoint them more</em>, his mind screamed, so he pointed at the far wall, near the entryway.</p><p>“The bridge on the calendar picture, very good. What else?”</p><p>Point through the pass through window into the kitchen.</p><p>“The sponge, well done. Three more.”</p><p>In front of Janus’ empty seat.</p><p>“The letters on the mug-”</p><p>Quick point to the book shelf in the living room.</p><p>“-and the book on my shelf. Last one?”</p><p>It took Virgil a longer moment before he found a cup of pens on the small coffee table behind the sofa, gesturing to the orange capped pen amongst the others. </p><p>“Wonderful. Are you feeling a bit better now?”</p><p>He didn’t respond, choosing to track Janus’ movements as he sat back into his chair, adjusting his hands so they were on his lap, most likely holding the gift he was hiding. Logan leaned against the couch as his husband spoke.</p><p>“Kid, I need you to understand something, alright? You don’t owe us anything. We want to give you a gift because it’s your birthday, and we want to celebrate <em>you</em>. This isn’t some favor that you have to return.”</p><p>How Janus understood Virgil’s distress, the younger could only guess. But his words of reassurance were enough to get Virgil to accept the wrapped package as he presented it with minimal shaking, for once demanding his brain relax. Neither of the men mentioned how delicately he unwrapped it, carefully tugging at the tape as to not rip the paper. Why risk it?</p><p>His mouth gaped when he saw the present for the first time, holding the box in a white knuckled grip.</p><p>“We were told yours was taken from you and never returned, and figured that you needed a new one,” Logan said. </p><p>It was the first <em>new</em> thing Virgil had ever gotten. His clothes were from thrift stores or hand downs, his school supplies consisted of a found pencil and a ripped binder from the group home’s storage, forget ever having his own computer or video games or…</p><p>“This is a phone!”</p><p>“That it is.” Janus was smiling, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea.</p><p>“I can’t- You can’t just- I don’t-” </p><p>“We can, and we did. You’re seventeen, you kind of need a phone just for everyday life. And unless you give us a reason not to trust you with it, we have no worries.”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t- </em>
</p><p>Janus slid the tissue box across the table, but Virgil elected to ignore it, refusing to take his eyes off the box in his hands. </p><p>“Thank you,” he barely choked out, “Thank you so much.”</p><p>“You’re very welcome, Virgil,” Logan responded for the both of them, returning back to the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given Virgil more than he’d ever gotten in his entire life combined. “I’m going to start on breakfast.”</p><p>“I can help you set it up. Then you can download some music… maybe contact the soulmate of yours again.” Janus switched chairs so he was next to Virgil, careful not to touch him, and Virgil couldn’t help grinning blindingly up at him.</p><p>It would only be after breakfast that Virgil would realize that he’d spoken. It would be a longer journey until he’d be able to talk again effortlessly, but he was a step closer. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Roman and Virgil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>((Day 29: You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet))</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word Count: 5.1k</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place. <b><br/></b></p><p>Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.</p><p>“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement. </p><p>“You’ve been humming for half an hour!” </p><p>He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.</p><p>“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”</p><p>“Then what’s the-”</p><p>“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”</p><p>Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time. </p><p>“Okay, but what does that ha-”</p><p>“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for <em>half an hour</em>, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”</p><p>Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Positive!” </p><p>That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was <em>not</em> intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds. </p><p>“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table. </p><p>“I- I don’t-”</p><p>Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal. </p><p>“You’re my soulmate!”</p><p>He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed. </p><p>“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”</p><p>Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.</p><p>—–</p><p>Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he <em>knew </em>that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his <em>soulmate. </em></p><p>He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years. </p><p>His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket. </p><p>
  <em>It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!</em>
</p><p>His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer. </p><p>“Hey, kiddo?”</p><p>Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting. </p><p>“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”</p><p>Oh, he <em>was</em> holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched. </p><p>“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”</p><p>Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath. </p><p>“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”</p><p>He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.</p><p>“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”</p><p>Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.</p><p>“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.</p><p>—–</p><p>Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug. </p><p>The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator <em>almost</em> lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was <em>cute</em>. </p><p>“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing. </p><p>“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went. </p><p>Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…</p><p>“Virgil, hold these for me.”</p><p>When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.</p><p>“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”</p><p>He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.</p><p>The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet. </p><p>“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.</p><p>“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”</p><p>Virgil nodded.</p><p>“Are you nonverbal?”</p><p>“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”</p><p>“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.</p><p>With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”</p><p>“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.</p><p>“It’s a guy.”</p><p>“How did that go?”</p><p>“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”</p><p>Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table. </p><p>“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis. </p><p>“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”</p><p>“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.</p><p>He shook his head. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”</p><p>Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can <em>not</em> miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”</p><p>His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”</p><p>“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.</p><p>“Are you <em>crazy</em>?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”</p><p>“Why not explain the <em>cause</em> for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.</p><p>“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”</p><p>“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”</p><p>Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”</p><p>“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.</p><p>“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”</p><p>—–</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: I still feel bad DX</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“He feels bad, what do I do?!”</p><p>“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”</p><p>“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”</p><p>“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”</p><p>“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>“…That’s not what I expected.”</p><p>“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”</p><p>“Seconded.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“Shit, fuck, how do I answer that?”</p><p>“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”</p><p>“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”</p><p>“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: No, I’m okay. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>“I… oh. He’s… wow.”</p><p>“I agree with your sentiment.”</p><p>“I like this boy already.”</p><p>“DAD!”</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Your dad’s a prof? </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: Lol he thinks he knows you</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: You have two dads?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: Yep</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by</b>
  </em>
</p><p>One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband’s waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in. </p><p>—–</p><p>In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.</p><p>Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.</p><p>He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.</p><p>“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”</p><p>“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”</p><p>Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”</p><p>“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.</p><p>“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”</p><p>Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.</p><p>“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”</p><p>There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.</p><p>“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>“Salutations.”</p><p>“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.</p><p>“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”</p><p>“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”</p><p>“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”</p><p>“I’ll start it if I want to!”</p><p>The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone. </p><p>“He’s all grown up.”</p><p>“That he is, my love.”</p><p>—–</p><p>Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket. </p><p>“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”</p><p>To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.</p><p>“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”</p><p>Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”</p><p>“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies. </p><p>“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”</p><p>Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back. </p><p>“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself. </p><p>“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better. </p><p>Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&amp;J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers. </p><p>They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.</p><p>“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”</p><p>“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands. </p><p>“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”</p><p>“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he <em>could</em> talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”</p><p>Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”</p><p>“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”</p><p>“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard. </p><p>Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but <em>I</em> came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”</p><p>“How many kids were in the home?”</p><p>“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But <em>they</em> circulated, and <em>I</em> was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”</p><p>“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda. </p><p>“My foster homes weren’t better.”</p><p>“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid. </p><p>“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”</p><p>Roman grimaced.</p><p>“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”</p><p>“You were a <em>kid</em>, Virgil.”</p><p>“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… <em>that</em> home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”</p><p>Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued. </p><p>Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food. </p><p>“I…”</p><p>Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.</p><p>“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little. </p><p>“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Were you in ther-… CT for three months?”</p><p>“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.</p><p>“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought. </p><p>“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. <em>Shit</em>, I’m so sorry. That must have been…” </p><p>“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was <em>not</em> your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.</p><p>“Can you look at me?”</p><p>He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was <em>not</em> looking forward to that disaster. </p><p>“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. <em>You’re</em> amazing.”</p><p>Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass. </p><p>“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness. </p><p>“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions. </p><p>“And me calling you amazing…”</p><p>“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted. </p><p>“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while. </p><p>Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process. </p>
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